Torture of the Soul
by DramioneIsMyOTP5Eva
Summary: All Draco can do is watch, and watch, as SHE is tortured at the hands of his family. Draco POV. Implied Dramione. An interpretation of the scene that transpired in Deathly Hallows at Malfoy Manor with feeelings that Jk Rowling didn't include :(((


The scene takes place during Deathly Hallows and is the torture scene in Malfoy Manor through Draco's POV with a twist.

-xXx-

 **Chapter 1**

"Draco"…, Aunt Bella whispers trailed across the room, gnawing at my skin. I resisted the urge to cringe, to show weakness in such a dire time.

"Well?", silence, a deformed Harry's head was still snapped back and held there by Bellatrix. I could feel her watching me. Stupid crush. Stupid. I could feel everybody watching. I knew I had to answer, everyone was looking at me expectantly. They needed an answer.

I looked to the floor, "I can't be sure.", I didn't want to see their disappointment. I didn't want to see her relief. It was all for her, always for her. Anything for her. But she would never know.

"Draco", my father moved toward me, clutching my neck, I soundlessly gasped, flinched, at the contact. His hands were cold but so was I. I was numb. "Look closely son", I wanted to wrench away from his clutch, to insist I was not his son. But I couldn't. I never could. "If we were the ones to hand…", I stopped listening. I couldn't bare it. Nobody used to depend on me. But now my decision would determine whether or not she lives. Everything had changed. I didn't know what to do. I heard voices but no words.

Suddenly he was in my face. He'd posed a question. I nodded in agreement. It was always easier to agree. To never argue. I had no fight in me regardless, maybe I am weak.

More voices. My father shouted. My mother ushered him away. I was ripped out of my oblivious state by my aunt who grabbed my wrist, "Don't be shy sweetie, come over", I allowed myself to be lead the few steps. Maybe I should've fought.

She made me kneel in front of Potter, to inspect him. I knew it was him but maybe this was my way to save her. Ensuring Potter's safety is ensuring hers. She said something. Something I should've probably listened to, "what's wrong with his face?", I asked but I didn't listen to any reply. I stared at Harry with a deformed face until Bellatrix moved. Towards her. The urge to turn around almost consumed me but I had to fight it. They couldn't know what I felt. Nobody could. So I continued to stare at Harry, trying my hardest to remain unfazed by my aunt walking in her direction.

My mother tapped my shoulder and I went to stand but I missed something because all of a sudden Curses and spells were flying around the room, all originating from my aunt's wand. But then worst thing happened. Bellatrix wanted Hermione. Alone.

"But the boys in the cellar", she insisted whilst ragging them across the room. My mother obeyed her order along with Peter. I hate that she easily obliges. "I want to have a conversation with this one", NO. I was so close to exploding, so close. "Girl to girl", I watched, trapped in position next to my Father. He would disown me if I spoke up and who would I have then? How could I help anyone then? How could I help her?

Suddenly Hermione was sprawled across the cold floor and Bellatrix leant over her, so close they were face to face. Whatever was being said to the younger witch made all her walls break. She cried. And sobbed. And pleaded. But nothing can get through to a sociopathic psychopath. Hermione's fists clenched. Her normally big character had shrunken to the daintiest of presences. Words were exchanged but the thing that shook me to the bones was the screams. The screams that started when my aunt set her sights on Hermione's arm. My jaw clenched as I comprehended my options of what to do. And it narrowed down easily and swiftly. Nothing. I can do absolutely nothing. Being helpless is the worst feeling in the word. Hermione moves and wriggles in pain but Bellatrix holds her head to the cold floor. She is shrieking and I am breaking. She is breaking and I am silent.

She has been left like a used doll, done with being played with. Her breaths are deep, her sobs quiet. Almost inexistent. Her arm strays to the side. Blood. Blood. Blood. Letters. A word. Mudblood. The filthy word brands her. Now and forever. I wish I could extinguish her pain. Her brokenness. She needs help but I am helpless. I must fight against her, I know that, yet I don't want to. My future is uncertain but hers is not. She will survive the war, start a relationship, probably with the Weasel or maybe Potter, have a family. She will find love. She will be loved. She will give love. To anybody. Everybody that isn't me. I am the blood of her torturer. Her abuser. Maybe she isn't broken. Maybe it's me.


End file.
